


Hellfire

by succubusybody



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, But like mild torture I'm not trying to do that in this fic u know, Dark, Eventual Dubcon, F/M, Infidelity, Kidnapping, Misogyny, Obsession, POV Third Person, Religious Fanaticism, Slow Burn, The Crucible vibes, The Torture Isn't The Point, Torture, Torture for what he thinks is a good cause?, Violence, Waterboarding, Witch Hunts, building sexual tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succubusybody/pseuds/succubusybody
Summary: Rey Niima has lived alone ever since the passing of her parents. While her isolation has her widely considered a spinster, she knows the distance is necessary - should anyone find out that she move things with her mind, she'd be hung (or worse) for witchcraft. So when Ben Solo, the minister's son, locks her in a remote cabin, promising to cure her of her wicked ways... she has every reason to be afraid.





	Hellfire

**Author's Note:**

> everyone: please! update!  
> me: oh, what's that? start more fics? well.... if you insist
> 
> also ben is married in this fic!!! hence the infidelity tag

She wakes with a start, which is unusual.

Lying there on her mattress, Rey stares up into the darkness, ears straining for any sort of clue to what woke her up. It might’ve been the chickens, or a crack of thunder, or… anything, really.

But she listens and she listens, and she hears nothing. Then, something in the house creaks. She sits up, blankets drawn to her chest, staring into the dark.

“Hello?” Her voice is nervous. She’s not sure which is worse: an answer or no answer. None comes, and she decides that it’s probably nothing… but she’ll feel much, much better if she checks before she goes back to bed. Turning, she reaches for the candle and tinderbox but freezes when she hears that same, unusual creak - much closer, this time. 

Rey turns again, just in time to see the outline of a man skulking into her bedroom. For all his attempted stealth, his considerable height makes him hard to miss, and she screams as loud as she can possibly manage, fumbling for the candlestick behind her and hurling it with as much strength as she can muster.

It hits him with a thud, and she can hear him muttering under his breath. The night’s too dark to make out his features, but she figures that doesn’t matter - no matter who he is, he shouldn’t be here. 

She stumbles out of bed, pressing herself against the furthest wall from him, her chest heaving as her heart pounds like thunder. She can feel her heartbeat in her ears. 

If she waits until he gets close enough, can she bolt around him for the door? She doesn’t see another option; she’d never get through the window before he got to her. But he doesn’t move from the door frame, foiling her shoddy-at-best plan, and she can feel herself getting more panicked by the minute.

“Get _out_!” Her voice cracks, too weighed down by her distress. He doesn’t say anything.

Rey can’t wait any longer: she charges straight for him, wondering if she can catch him off guard. She can’t, and he reaches out easily to snare an arm around her waist; she throws her weight to the ground, unbalancing him so that he topples down on top of her, crushing the air out of her lungs.

They scrabble with one another. She claws for his face as he struggles to keep her pinned, neither of them speaking, the room filled with the sounds of their panting and the sporadic thuds of her feet hitting the ground each time she kicks up or throws a knee. With a grunt, he pushes her down by the shoulders and manages to straddle her hips, sitting on her thighs to keep her legs still.

She knows she’s losing, and she’s panicked. Just for a moment, she considers using the energy inside of her to grab the firepoke across the room, imagines beating him over the head with it.

But she can’t. If she let him see what she was capable of, she’d have to kill him. No one would care that he’d been breaking into her home to do who knows what with her - they’d be more concerned about a witch in their presence.

And she can’t. She can’t kill him. 

She stares at him with fearful eyes. He uses his grip on her shoulders to knock her head on the floor once, then twice, and then she isn’t scared anymore - she’s blissfully unconscious.

 

 

Leaves are crunching. Her head pounds, and the way she’s swaying isn’t helping matters. She groans, one hand reaching up to feel the knot on the back of her skull.

And then, all at once, it comes back to her. Rey’s eyes fly open with a sharp gasp: she can see the retreating ground and the back of his boots as he walks, carrying her over his shoulders like she’s nothing more than a sack of wheat he’d picked up at the market. 

Her hair is loose and uncovered, and she’s still wearing her shift, and her first thought is that he must have something _terrible_ planned - why else would he take her into the woods? Why else would he carry her off when she’s indecent?

With a huff and a great deal of exertion, Rey pushes against his back, using him as leverage to hoist herself up and look over her shoulder. 

They’re heading toward a cabin in the middle of a meadow, and not a cabin or meadow that she’s ever seen before. She has no idea how long she’s been unconscious for - no idea how far they are from the village.

Tears prick her eyes, and she pounds against his back, as though her small fists would do anything.

Once they’re inside, he practically tosses her to the ground; she uses her hands to push herself back, back, back until her back hits wall and she can’t push any further. It’s small - one room, with some crudely built furniture and a fire already blazing. Everything smells new.

What _is_ this place?

Rey looks up at him, lower lip trembling, and realizes that she can see him - and she _knows_ him. 

Ben Solo. She’s never spoken to him, but he’s the minister’s son. Well liked. Married to Kaydel, who is easily the prettiest girl in the village. Rey’s brows knit together with confusion, even as she draws her knees to her chest defensively. He just stands by the door for a moment, watching her.

Before she can ask what he wants from her, he speaks.

“I know what you are, witch.”

Her eyes widen. There’s no way he could know - she’s been so careful, ever since she was a young girl, only practicing in secret. She’d always made sure no one was around to see. She knew what would happen: she’d be burned, accused of dealing with the Devil.

It’s not true; she’s not a witch. She doesn’t know what she is. She doesn’t know how to tell him this.

“I’m going to help you. I’m going to fix you.” His jaw is set, solemn. She can see the way it tenses, but she’s too far away to be able to guess what he’s thinking. “But I have to go, for now. I’ll be back.” He stands there a moment longer, like he’s waiting for her to say something, but she doesn’t know what to say. She just stares at him, staring back at her.

He doesn’t say anything else when he leaves, just shuts the door behind him. She stands, watching through the window as he grabs a wide wooden board, setting it in the hooks on either side of the door and barricading her in. She watches as he examines his work and then shakes his head, stooping to pick up a hammer and nails - from when he’d built this? - before he seals her in.

Ben glances at her, only briefly, before turning to walk back into the woods. Once she’s certain he isn’t coming back, she huddles in front of the fire and tries not to worry about what “fixing her” means.


End file.
